


Life's Not Fair.

by whatodo



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Death, Gen, Grim Reaper - Freeform, Hospital, One Shot, Original Character - Freeform, Other, Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Sad, Short One Shot, Unnamed Original Character - Freeform, Unnamed Original Character Death, death personified, original character death, time to make my favourite characters sad again!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 09:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10303823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatodo/pseuds/whatodo
Summary: Neither is Death.orThat time when Wilson meet a personification of Death while watching over another dying child, and is understandably Sick of this Shit™️️.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first fanfic, one that's been stewing in my notes for a while. this has been proofread only by my eyes and hands, so i apologize in advance for any grammar, spelling, or just plain old cringe worthy errors.
> 
> i rated this teen and up because it is mildly dark and there are some strong four lettered words.
> 
> this takes place anywhere in the show, so no spoilers.
> 
> enjoy?? (it's pretty sad, so.)

It was late. Even the rain outside was tired, slowly rolling down the tall window pane. Wilson had been in her hospital room for a little more than two hours, waiting for the last breath, the last flutter of eyelashes, the last words that this little girl would speak. He knew it was coming. Her dark skin was ashy under the thin hospital gown, her breathing clogged with the cancer filling her lungs. Wilson’s thoughts drowned out the incessant beeping monitor, insisting that her heart was still beating. Slowly but surely. Her mother had left, after surviving for nearly a week off of half decent hospital food and potato casseroles from family, to go get some rest in a real bed. She knew her daughter was nearing the end, evident by the lingering, heartfelt goodbye she bid her. She whispered the familiar words, “I love you,” like they were the last time her little girl would hear them.  
  
Silence seeped through the already oppressively quiet room. Time seemed to slow, as the monitor took a break from beeping and the rain outside slowed even further to a halt. Wilson blinked, and turned away from the slow, awful spectacle before him. Seated beside him, in the blue chair that her mother had occupied hours before, sat —  
  
“Death. And you must be Dr. Wilson.” The gaunt man interrupted Wilson’s fumbling train of thought. The man’s pale, cloudy eyes stared directly through him. Cataracts, Wilson concluded quickly. He looked ironically healthy otherwise, his dark skin the color of dirt, rich with life. He was an imposing figure, in a deep blue suit, the color of a sky that had not yet known the rising of a sun, the color of an ancient ocean, empty of any creatures. Wilson stared for a moment, unable to decide on an expression. His eyes hardened, settling on quiet, seething anger.  
  
"So, you’ve finally decided to come yourself.”  
  
Death tilted his head slightly at this kind, tired man.  
  
“You sound offended.”  
  
A snort.  
  
“I'm not even going to respond to that.”  
  
If House were here, he'd quickly point out the irony.  
  
He'd quickly point out a lot more than that.  
  
The clock above the sliding glass doors was frozen, holding its breath to watch this moment.  
  
“Tonight then. I assume?”  
  
Death replied, his hands splayed open, “That’s why I’m here.”  
  
Wilson looked up, blinking, willing his tears to wait. Sharply, he ducked his chin to his neck. He worried his lip. He took a shaky breath.  
  
“Why?” He managed not to scream, or throw something, or burst into tears.  
  
Death smiled a small smile.  
  
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that…”  
  
“I mean, why? Why, why why… what makes her deserve this? Her mother, she… isn’t even here! And, and she had a 70% success rate! This is outrageous! She should be fine, she was responding great to chemo and then… She’s only six! For the love of —!” Wilson was yelling now. Taking it down a few notches, so as not to have the nurses come in and see him throwing words at an empty chair or who knows what, he seethed, “Why’d you come now? Huh? What happened to your, you know, your goonies? Huh? The semi-transparent, faceless little fuckers?” He waved his hands at him. “Normally they sweep up after I finish ripping parents away of their last hope."  
  
They weren't angels, but they were definitely not of this world. He didn't see them every time a patient died — not that he actually personally saw many patients' very last moments. On the few occasions he did, he couldn't remember if they had been there when he came in the room or not. They were hauntingly empty looking, swimming through the air, stiff and bone white. They looked vaguely human, but the light in their eyes didn't quite make it to the edges of their eyes, almost like it would rattle around in their eye sockets if they ever bent their neck. He had seen, once, on them breathe in deeply, just as the faltering beep of a patient's heartline monitor flatline. In the bustle of the nurses charging the defibrillator and giving the clear, he didn't notice them take its leave. It was gone by the time his eyes searched the room in the oppressive wake of their failure.  
  
"Now you come. After God knows how many needless, unwarranted deaths I’ve stood over. Why couldn’t you clean up after someone who deserves it? No, no nono, you go after the little girl instead, right? Her mom can barely afford cancer! Her bills aren't paid with the welfare checks she gets from her deadbeat dad, obviously. Her mom works two jobs, both of which are on thin ice what with her spending so much time with her _dying_ daughter!” He spat the last words, an accusation. He didn’t remember when he decided to stand up, but here he was. “And you… Fuck you,” he whispered.  
  
Death had remained calmly seated, eyes locked on the enraged man. “I know you won’t believe me, but I don’t have a say. I don’t choose who lives another day, who dies in the morrow, or who died yesterday. It happened because of choices you brilliant little beings chose a long time ago, or are choosing today. In this world, you are affected by your and others decisions. Don’t think,” Death’s voice lowered, “that I enjoy my duty, Dr. Wilson. Because I do not. I do my job, you do yours. This child hasn’t lived long enough to see how much evil is in the world, nor will she ever see anymore. Be grateful, if you can, for that. I am a force of nature, of life, of death, not of any of your convoluted senses of good and evil, right and wrong. I am the gray in your black and white world.” He paused. “This isn’t the answer you want, but it’s the truth, and that is all that anyone can ask of anyone.”  
  
Rising from his seat, he walked behind Wilson’s chair, without a hint of a blind man’s clumsiness. One bony hand gripped Wilson’s shoulder like iron.  
  
“You’re a good man Dr. Wilson. A good man.”  
  
A breath later, the girl’s heart monitor flatlined.


End file.
